Dark Images
by Lillebule
Summary: 7th Chapter is now up! Claude prays for gold.
1. Chapter 1

Dark Images.

Yes, I have been away for a while, but that was only to come back with something darker and hotter!

Please note: There is a reason this fic is in the "M"/"Mature" section. Lots of graphic sexual scenes…basically that's all this is…just one big perverted smut-fest with a small side of spirituality.

For right now this is a one shot, however I am trying to make it into 7 chapters…1 chapter for each of the 7 Deadly Sins. This one is for Lust. It is meant to be kind of trippy and choppy, because that's how I wrote it. Other than that this is primarily some dark, book based Fresme smut.

Yes, I know it's long…deal with it.

I don't own any of the characters, Victor Hugo does.

As always please review. Constructive criticism is welcome and flames not so much.

It was early morning; well after midnight, but before the sun had even given thought to kissing the sky and illuminating the city below. The time had never occurred to him, he was busily bent over a book and as he read his lips moved, releasing faint whispers.

"Lucifer...Superbia, Mammon…Avaritia, A…As…Asmo…Mother of God! I spoke it so clearly once, but now it stains my lips like her curse! God! God if you can hear me, I denounce you and pray only to Asmodeus."

He violently flung the text he had been reading to the ground, ripping each page, holding them over flames, counting the seconds it took for the flames to tickle his already burning fingertips.

"Damnation!"

A flame had singed his finger too harshly and with that he collapsed to the floor, staring intoxicatingly into the flame.

"So warm, and how it twists…Asmo…Esmeralda."

And with that thought, his mind ventured to more lurid territory.

Her heaving form lying on a pedestal, ready for the taking. Her hair, shimmering in the light of Hell's own flames and fanned out above her head and draping over the edge of the stone slab, her. That sweaty bronze skin, glistening with delight, body fully nude and for his eyes alone to see! Those sweet black eyes, closed in longing, lashes sweeping against her reddened cheeks. Her nostrils flared hungry for the stench of brimstone, smoke and sulfur and her mouth opening and closing with small gasps and swoons. And then his eyes travelled lower. Her left hand reaching up to her neck, those five tender digits moving and searching for what seemed to be needed! Those same fingers now travelled down, begging his eyes to follow. And here his eyes latched onto her swollen bosom; two round, firm and pert breasts which bobbed up and down with every labored breath she took.

"God let me wake before, like her I am damned here for all eternity!"

He began to frantically search for some exit, some sign that God was listening. But this was no place for God, this was his blasphemy and the work of something more twisted than God.

With no sign of help and no doorway out, he looked back at the stone slab to notice that she was still there, though her right hand seemed to have taken up the job that the left hand had abandoned.

The fingers on her right hand seemed to glide over the full length of her right leg, then her stomach, up to her still heavy breasts and then…

"OH GOD!"

He shrieked, watching her spread her legs and dip her right index and middle fingers into the apex of her thighs. But those words seemed to break the silence and grab her attention. She regarded him, languidly opening her eyes and casually turning her head toward him. And then she opened her beautiful red mouth and in a barely audible whisper spoke.

"Save me Claude. I am yours."

In that moment she and those words seemed out of place. At last, gathering his bearings he could see a pit of lava below them which gave the eerie red glow to everything in its path. Behind him were steep hills of unstable rocks and dirt. But more importantly everything felt feverishly hot. The ground seared his feet, the air stung his face, the atmosphere dried his lips. And what was before him? This his reward from the Devil for at last giving into his carnal desires. Or could he be dead and perhaps God was granting him his greatest desire as his reward? The largest question was whether or not he cared.

He watched as she bit her bottom lip and with a pleading glance beckoned him to join her on the stone slab.

He stalked, cautiously over to her and the moment he came near enough, she grabbed his arm and pulled him down on top of her.

To prevent a collision, he braced himself by placing his hands on either side of her and the instant their bodies made contact he could feel her wriggling, pressing her soft wet opening to his pelvic region!

"This must be Heaven."

He thought, trying to gain a logical grasp on what was happening.

"Yes…there is no Sun God!"

Her hands ripped the fabric of his cassock, jarring him from his ponderings. Her nails rabidly tore away at each seam, discarding the fabric once held in such high regard as though it was a common dish rag.

"No…"

His mind again began to race and he grabbed her hands, forcing her to stop.

"And what use does a holy frock have for me now?"

She quipped, pressing her chest to his, leaning back to give him a better view of his "reward."

He shook with fury at how she could mock him. Her rough laughter, her jovial smile and then her hand running along a patch of his bare skin. The pads of her fingers were exquisitely soft!

"It is a piece of cloth like any other. It tears, it burns…it is made to hide shame and to be removed."

But these were not the words of love and sweetness he had dreamt about.

Again he attempted to take control by grabbing her hands and holding them tightly enough, that she could not free them from his grasp.

"Listen to me you little witch! Listen and answer me this: Do you love me?"

"Claude. Is it only Love that you want?"

She pressed against him, whispering into his ear. The warmth of her body combined with the sultry tone of her voice caused him to release her.

His body was being more honest than his mind was; he could feel sweat form on his brow and temples, his heart began to race and he could feel himself harden at the mere sight of her. And with that he could feel her slipping his cassock off.

This was a fantasy and like all of his other fantasies this one was sure to end the moment he pressed his lips to hers; he would awaken in a pool of tears and sweat, there would be a knocking at the door and he would return to the waking world, wanting nothing more than to return to this fantasy.

Her arms slunk around his neck, pulling him in…

He stood before a grand lake on a foggy morning. The pebbles beneath his feet began to dig into his skin and he could feel the blood slowly pour out. He hesitantly stepped into the onyx water to cleanse his feet. But the moment he did, he could not turn back. The water seemed to know him and he it, the small waves laid claim to him by weighing his feet down. He accepted this with a calm, stone like and almost serene face.

He tilted his head to one side, deepening the ravenous kiss. Her tongue ran itself along his, applying pressure and then allowing him to do the same. He felt her tongue circle around his, delving deeper and daring him to do the same.

He should be awake by now…

His arms which had once been flung around her back as to insure that he would receive this kiss now slid and rubbed their way to the sides of her supple breasts.

"Mmmmm!"

Her muffled cry of approval, as his hands stroked their way to the front. He first began to shyly squeeze those large, perfect orbs and in so doing took note of her nipples.

With her head leaning slightly back, she opened herself up to his lips. Those warm and dry, pink petals latched onto her velvet neck, nipping and sucking and soon her flesh was marred with a trickle of blood. And did Claude mind tasting that sweet and tangy life force? The rough tip of his tongue grazed her brown neck, causing her to shiver in delight!

He could feel the icy water rise, waist deep as hands beneath the waves grabbed for his feet. The wind had just picked up and he could feel it, slapping him in the face. In the distance he could hear faint sounds of angry laughter, yet he continued his trek through the murky liquid.

Her cinnamon colored nipples, completely erect; the tell tale sign that a woman was more than ready for sex. His thumbs rubbing and pressing them down and his lips still sloppily kissing her neck. She was ready, but was he?

Oh God he should be awake by now…

But did he want to be awake?

Just as his hands caressed her busty chest, hers slid over his more slender and pale chest. Those wonderfully soft hands crept lower! And now her tiny fingers were on the laces of his hose.

His head was imploding and surely he should wake up any minute!

He heard a loud, overly surprised gasp from her.

"You did not tell me you loved me this badly!"

Her hand had worked its way into his hose and now held his burning cock.

"So hard!"

Claude's eyes had widened at the sudden touch, but mere seconds later he drowsily gave into her wanton ministrations.

Slowly at first, tugging lightly and sweetly licking the shell of his ear. He had never been touched there and had never given any thought as to how he wanted to be touched, but her teasing strokes made him groan for more! Eyes closed, head tilted back and teeth clenched he released ragged breaths, begging her not to stop.

The waves were becoming larger, as he continued walking. Now chest deep into the frigid lake he could feel his ankles numbing and pain shoot up his legs. His entire body began to tremble in the most violent way. The wind continued its rush in every direction imaginable, asking the waves for assistance. Claude felt solid sheets of ice fling into his face, causing his neck to turn and jerk painfully. And still he did not stop.

Her hand sped up, slipping and stroking up and down his hardened manhood. He quickly glanced down to see her fingers wrapped around him and knew that he must have hardened even more, just by the comparison of her small hand around his stiff member. And she must have been satisfied with her work! She lightly ran an index finger around the pink tip, narrowed her eyes and in a husky tone spoke the words he had been longing to hear.

"I'm ready to love you now, Claude."

If he did not wake up at the peak of this fantasy he must surely be dead.

She tugged at his hose, ripping them beyond repair and smiled wickedly as he lay her back down on the stone slab.

For a moment Claude decided to take in the sights of her, which until now he had yet to see; her womanly mound. He ran his right hand over her soft dusting of curls. He noted how damp they felt and he could smell the aroma of her musky arousal.

This is when he was sure to wake up…

His hand languidly drifted to her inner thigh and he could see how pink and feel how warm she was. And of course there was the question of fitting into her. She seemed so little that he might cause her great pain at first. But just the thought of her being so tight and the feeling of her vaginal walls around him aroused him further!

She must have been able to hear his thoughts.

"Hurt me Claude."

A pleading whimper broke the silence.

For the first time he aligned his body with hers and began to rub the tip of his cock into her sweet pussy.

With the water now nearing his chin and the wind chilling him to the bones, Claude could feel heavier weights being attached to his sinking feet. The wind kept daring him to float away and the waves cooperated by shoving him this way and that. He could no longer feel the steady floor of the lake beneath his feet. Instead his toes seemed to lift away from the water.

"Claude…So strong!"

Her hands clutched his thinning hair and tore out handfuls of it, as he pressed in, at last penetrating her.

"CLAUDE!"

He heard her shriek at the top of her lungs, as he had finally fit himself into her. God she had been tight, but luckily she was wet enough for him to slide into her with minimal discomfort.

"Oh yes Esmeralda!"

He caught a glimpse of her dark tear filled eyes; that tiny bit of pain increased his pleasure tenfold!

At first Claude began to massage her tight folds in an attempt to loosen her love canal; a gentle in and out motion, only served to quicken and not give him the satisfaction of filling her completely. He pulled out, trying to think of a way for her to accommodate him.

"Please…don't stop!"

She begged. And with those three words he smirked, knowing that he'd have to enter her again. The use of his dick to part her pink, moistened lips a second time gave him an even greater thrill than the first. Yes, there would be that bit of resistance but he was certain that with a few strong strokes her pain would be worth the pleasure.

The waves were bashing against his eyes. He was no longer breathing in the humid morning air, instead he could feel his nostrils fill with water. He willed himself to sink lower. He needed something to take hold of!

His manhood fully sheathed within his screaming prize, he began to gyrate his hips in circular motions to the sound of her joyful cries.

"Yes Claude Love me!"

She was peaking.

Long ago he had forgotten the waking world and waking with it. To be this close to making her his completely and have that taken from him would be the cruelest joke God could ever play. He had tried desperately to call out for God during this lascivious act, but every time he had done so the name came out all wrong.

"ESMERALDA!"

The name was ripped from his vocal chords as he came. The last semblance of his virtue, of those defiled priestly vows…

The water was no longer his concern. The wind had succeeded in lifting him and he now was frantically seeking out something to take hold of. There were no rocks, no roots, no sticks or blades of grass. There was no stopping and no control, as he screamed out what had replaced God.

"Asmodeus!"

* * *

><p>Hope you all enjoyed that! Now review!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I'm back. Sorry that this one took me so long, but Claude and gluttony were kind of a hard match. I've also been busy looking for work and getting set to go back to school.

Anyways…I'm doing a series of vignettes based on the 7 Deadly Sins and they all center around Claude. The first one and the first chapter being lust. The vignettes are not related to one another, there isn't really any order, rhyme or reason to them. These are all book based and graphic.

This chapter is a "what if" scenario. It's what if Claude had one night followed Esme to the Court of Miracles and just took part in some debauchery.

I do not own any of the characters, Victor Hugo does.

Reviews and constructive criticism are always greatly appreciated, however flames not so much.

* * *

><p>It was one of those rare, hot and muggy early evenings. The sun had set about an hour ago and the sky's spectrum ran from topaz, sapphire, amethyst to deep black. There was no breeze and onyx clouds covered the scant stars and pearl moon. In the haze and with the heaviness of the air, Claude had decided to take a break from his experiments. He was standing, watching the few moving torches down below and listening to the scattered voices and revelry. He had studied too much today and was hoping to catch a glimpse of her. By now she would be hurrying off to that vile layer of miracles, as were the rest of those still lingering in the streets. They would all be off to some hovel to drain the city of wine and mead. He sighed, forlornly knowing that his brother was amongst them and dully counted the number of flames he could see.<p>

"Flames…one day I will hold the one which makes gold."

Looking back at his desk with its papers strewn, glass vials, stones and one lone candle he suddenly felt disinterested and decided to take a walk. He slowly groped his way down the stairs and a corridor or two, then as he stepped foot beyond the threshold of the cathedral he saw her!

She was walking alone and with her little goat beside her. But she was walking in the opposite direction of his normal walking route. As she passed him he could have easily reached out and grabbed her soft arm or her raging locks of hair. He longed to know what she felt like! He would easily pull her into the cathedral, hold her close and…as he was dreaming she had walked on.

"The flame…the sun. If the sun is all it takes to make her love me, then I will one day hold it in my hands. I will have it strung on a necklace for her and give it to her as a gift."

At this thought he shook his head and turned around, back into the cathedral. It was better not to be caught at some witch's orgy.

"The sun she will have!"

He pronounced and mounted the staircase and once back inside his cell he found it difficult to work. The bells rang and he just stared blankly at a small group of stones. He was allowing his mind to wander with the girl.

* * *

><p>He was walking beside her and the little goat had trotted ahead. She was smiling at him and thanking him for the small green stone, which she now wore around her neck. He too smiled along with her and just told her that it was the least he could offer her and that after all, she so often brightened his days with her songs and her dancing.<p>

"It is a humble gift from an undeserving admirer."

"Will you accompany me to my home?"

He politely nodded and continued to walk by her side. Along the way he had grown tired of the silence and wanted to hear her voice. It was such a pretty and sweet little voice and he knew that the angels in Heaven must be jealous!

"My friend Pierre Gringoire tells me that you worship the sun."

She looked to the sky, saddened that the source of her worship had gone away. Yet there was the hope of tomorrow's warmth in her eyes.

"Yes."

She at last spoke.

"The sun gives warmth and light!"

It was a loving and curious sigh of adoration. Claude smiled and allowed her to lead him down an alley. He had never paid enough attention to know where she was taking him, but she had the power to lead him anywhere.

To his right was a young man, peeling a boil from his arm. To his left was a young woman pressing against an elderly man to steal his purse. There were men pulling bloody bandages away from clean skin, children who somehow re-grew legs and arms! Each came to him, held out a hand and demanded money. Some held poniards to his throat and one gray woman copped a feel below his belt. In this madness he had lost sight of Esmeralda and was being shoved from one side to the other, tossed forward and stripped of his cassock.

"What a disguise!"

A jovial and familiar voice boomed as the torn garment reached his hands.

Jehan stood atop a table and examined the frock, before himself donning it.

"Kyrie elison…"

Jehan spoke in a mock droning voice, crossing himself and then taking a sizable swig of port wine. He crowed in astonishment and delight at his elder brother's frightened and confused face.

Seeing that Jehan knew the man, the crowd dissipated and left Claude with his brother.

"And what brings my holy brother here to this 'unholiest' of places?"

Jehan snaked an arm around Claude's shoulders and led him to a chair.

"In need of some assistance with your alchemy dear brother? Or perhaps you have come in search of some new vice?"

Jehan coolly slid a mug of mead to his brother and offered him the drink.

"Come now, you are in my church now dear brother. The custom is to drink."

Jehan gulped down his mug of mead and threw his legs onto the table, crossing them.

"Where am I?"

Until now Claude had been in utter shock, unable to speak. His eyes darted around the room; women sitting on men's laps, men unlacing their hose and leaning into lewd women, the old teaching the young new tricks of the trade, the younger running and yelling. It was chaos!

"You my worthy brother are far from Notre-Dame."

Jehan answered with a cunning smirk and pressed his brother to drink.

"You are in the Court of Miracles dear brother."

Jehan stood and walked behind his brother's chair, then without warning placed his arm around Claude's neck. Immediately Claude grabbed at his younger brother's arm and gasped for air. But instead of air, Claude's throat was greeted with crude mead! Jehan had poured an entire mug of the disgusting brew into his brother's mouth. Claude gargled, sputtered and angrily regained composure.

"Have you brought your lectures of morality to me this time brother?"

Claude wiped away the excess liquid from his mouth and shook his head in embarrassment. On some baser level he had enjoyed the taste of the mead and the way it had already begun to take effect on him. He grabbed for the mug and downed it, before answering his brother.

His brain had begun to feel fuzzy and light.

"_Yes. Let all the gross things of this world flutter away_. Your cassock and your good senses."

A small voice had found its way to the back of Claude's thought and so he decided to tackle another mug.

"And I always did wonder about the family resemblance."

Jehan quipped, watching his brother drink this new mug more slowly.

"I was talking to someone."

The liquor had now hit his stomach and was truly beginning to cloud his better judgement.

"The little girl with the goat…"

Jehan nodded and knew who his brother was talking about and handed his brother a piece of bread.

Claude shook his head and refused the food.

"It will help you think more clearly."

"_This will ease the awkwardness of speaking to her. It will make you braver and more appealing in her eyes. Just one more drink and you will be able to speak with her."_

Jehan pressed the matter, trying to get his brother to take the small loaf but then giving up as Claude swatted the food away. Instead Claude guzzled a fifth mug and scanned the crowd for the woman he admired so dearly. He sloshed another mug into his hand and as he brought it to his lips spilled the entire contents of the mug into his lap. He felt numb and found little use for his brain. Jehan began to notice that his brother was tottering back and forth with a green tint to his pale skin.

Claude could hear a faint voice goading him to drink more, but his stomach rolled and churned. It was as though some creature was inside his stomach and was attempting to claw its way out! He fell forward to rest his head on the table.

"Where is she?"

Jehan could barely understand his brother's slurred speech through the belches and choking down of vomit.

"_One more drink and she will appear with open arms."_

At the sound of the small voice, which now seemed to drown out all other voices Claude took up another mug and took two gulps, before slumping over and grabbing at his stomach. Something was rushing up through his intestines and it made him feel sluggish.

"Can you hear me?"

Jehan shook his brother's shoulder, but Claude did not respond.

The feeling of head pain and a taste of rotten wood assaulted his tongue. It was as though he was physically sitting and talking with his brother, though he was not.

"_She has gone to feed her goat, but do not worry brother she did not mean to abandon you here! She will return and find you and when she does she will want to thank you properly for that trinket you gave her. Drink up brother!"_

"How much longer should I wait?"

Jehan only heard a gurgling sound and once again shook his brother's shoulder. This time Claude tottered to his feet and began to walk away from the table.

"_Perhaps you should go find her. I believe she lives over there. You ought bring something for her to drink as well."_

He looked back, grabbed at a mug and once in motion tilted it this way and that. Meanwhile, the effects of the alcohol crept into a fever and sweat. He placed the drink down and began to remove his tunic and use it to blot away the droplets of sweat, forming on his brow. His throat felt as though it was clenched and keeping something in, so he decided to take a few languid sips of the mead.

"_What harm can a little drink do?"_

The little voice was becoming further away.

"Esmeralda?"

People began to stare at the half nude and inebriated priest, but in his mind he was acting normal and they were rude to stare. He began scowling at every passerby and demanding to know where Esmeralda lived.

"Damn you all to Hell! Where is she?"

He was still sipping his mead as he shouted at the crowd. He suddenly felt the need to sit down, as the room had become unbearably hot! His stomach still fought to keep the lurking creature contained.

Jehan watched in amusement as his elder and holier than thou brother went on a drunken rampage, pulling people aside and slurring at them, shoving children aside, doubling over and taking sip after sip of the mead.

And then, what Jehan had been waiting for!

Claude could no longer move! The thing inside him had swam through his stomach and up his throat and now it burst from his lips. A horrific sound and a splash of brown liquid covered his feet as he fell to his knees in an attempt to stop.

Another burning hiccup of brown liquid covered his chest and hose. It smelled of rotten wood and overly ripe fruit! Once more and he doubled over, feeling his stomach grip itself in painful triumph. This time nothing came forth, but a second wave struck with even greater force and he could feel the murky bile spew from his lips.

His stomach now empty, he lay down in his own vomit not caring where he was or what he was doing. The pain was subsiding and he could hear footsteps nearing his head. He did not stand, nor did he glance to see who it was. He did not care. He only cared that he had drank more than his fill and needed rest. He closed his eyes and heard the angelic voice.

"Claude…"

It was a disappointed voice and as he opened his eyes he could see people walk passed him and the feet of his beloved.

* * *

><p>It was well passed the time to eat or drink now, but Claude hungered for something. Not wanting to be awakened in a pool of his own vomit he poured a small goblet of wine and took a few sips before allowing the deep red liquor to lull him to sleep.<p>

* * *

><p>Not sure when I will be updating, so REVIEW! These stories take a lot of time to form and wschool starting soon they will take even more time, but heck they might come quicker if you REVIEW! And if you're one of those people who's into subliminal messages !WEIVER I'm thinking either pride or maybe envy for the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey all, just a little recap for those who may not have read the first 2 chapters and just as a refresher for you who have…

Chapter 1 was lust: Claude has a nightmare about what would happen to his soul if he were to have sex w/Esme.

Chapter 2 was gluttony: Claude has a nightmare about what would happen if he were to walk Esme home. He gets drunk, vomits all over and passes out.

And that brings us to chapter 3, or what I like to call Sloth. If you hadn't gotten the hint by now, these are all vignettes based on the 7 Deadly Sins. Each chapter is one of the sins.

This one really took a while, as Claude really isn't slothful. So I had to be creative and find some way for him to commit this one. So in this chapter I decided to give Claude an inner never ending debate. Does God exist? This one isn't graphic.

Not sure what the next chapter will be, or when it will be posted.

This is book based, so I don't own any of the characters Victor Hugo does.

Reviews/constructive criticism are greatly appreciated, flames not so much.

For a bitter cold January morning the sun shone rather brightly through the cerulean sky. There were no clouds, just streaks of saffron glaring across bottles and gems. Claude knew he was close to making gold. He knew in his soul that today would be the day he would bring gold forth from the fire in his stove! He tossed aside coal and ash to discover that the lead had only melted.

"_One more waste after another."_

He thought, as he sat down to read. But as he sat there came a clattering and familiar sound from down in the parvis.

"_Man's law fails, but perhaps God's law will prevail in this matter."_

He took the Bible, the long forgotten book, which had sat upon a shelf collecting dust. At first he wondered what had been keeping him from reaching for it all these months. And then from below the crowd cheered and clapped. He was strong in his resolve; today he would not look down. He knew she was there and that she was the reason he had not lifted his eyes to Heaven in months! Today his eyes would gaze only at God's word and not the movements of some vessel of Satan!

He rubbed his hand along the thick leather cover and watched as the dust particles filled the air. For several moments his eyes followed the patterns a few took, gliding across the room and quickly disappearing, as few lingered and soon fell to the desk below. One or two particles hung in the air, colliding and then parting ways, running together again and apart once more. He likened their patterns to a dance.

"_Yes…she is down there now. I know this song well, for she so often dances to it."_

He smiled, turning his chair to the window to look out, but not down. His eyes were still fixated on the two dust particles.

"_She dances, he catches her. He releases her and then when she least expects it he gathers her in his arms and whispers words of love in her ear. She flies away, blushing…"_

And then the two particles ceased to exist as two separate particles.

"_He kisses her cheek, her lips and her pliant neck. She swoons in his arms and will give him anything his earthly heart desires."_

As the dust particle wafted out the window, he turned back to his desk. He nudged the words of God aside and reflected on himself for a moment. There were secrets few would ever guess and none would ever dare gossip about! He himself would never admit to what his mind observed.

_Claude Frollo you are too learned a man for God. And surely God has not been the answer you have been seeking. God has been on a shelf, collecting dust while these pages of equations and scientific formulas have occupied your desk. And what is that? Ah! The sound of a tambourine I hear. Yes and God has would not allow that at all._

At that moment Claude looked down to see a word scribbled on a piece of parchment. It was in plain simple letters, but he now believed in it more than he believed in God.

_How often do you pray Claude? What do you pray for? What does God look like to you Claude? How do you know that God is listening?_

He drug a hand across his brow in an attempt to restore order to his scattered mind. He hadn't slept all night and had barely eaten anything all week. He felt himself becoming delirious.

"_God listens when I pray. I pray for salvation…I pray for the ill to become healthy…I pray for Paris…I pray as often as I can. I pray at least once every hour."_

_And what proof do you have that God exists? You cannot see God, nor can you hear him, or speak directly to him. You cannot touch God's hand. God does not exist Claude. _

His heart seized up and his hand hung around his open mouth.

"_NO!"_

God existed. God had to exist. God was the reason for all. And yet for some reason he found his lack of evidence that God existed liberating.

Life without God and God's laws would certainly be much easier!

_Yes. Without God think about how many hours of sleep you would have. And you would not sleep alone any longer. You could sleep with that little sorceress down there._

At this bit of logic, Claude peered down to see the little dancing girl. She always smiled and was always happy. She was the most graceful damsel he had ever had the good fortune of laying eyes upon! And without God he could be with her right now.

_Without God there would be no "good" and no "evil." People do not have souls! Bah! You know as well as I do Claude, that when a man dies he does not go to heaven, hell or purgatory. When a man dies his body is laid in the ground and worms eat away at his flesh while weeds grow over his body. God complicates everything and wouldn't you like things to be simple for just once?_

Claude found himself distracted and nodded in agreement.

_Is being in love so wrong? God makes it wrong. God is the one who makes her "evil" and God is the one who has put the idea in your head that loving her is "wrong." If you love her, then love her. Do not worry so much about what some invisible man in the sky will think of your love for her. _

Claude began to relax in his chair and then a new thought occurred to him.

"_But if God does not exist then I am useless!"_

_Science Claude! Yes…isn't it God who says that what you do up here is "wrong?" But you are doing things to make mankind better and that is something I think God would approve of. God contradicts himself quite a lot doesn't he? A man cannot make love to a woman until they are married. And you cannot marry. _

Claude put his mind at ease by concentrating on the sound from below. He was becoming easier with the idea that God did not exist and was even beginning to embrace such an idea.

"_God is manmade. Man created the idea and man can undo such an abomination."_

The statement came too easily to him. His life had been dedicated to God, but dedicating his life to himself seemed much more pleasing!

_Without God you would never have to rise early, you could lie in bed with her at your leisure. You could sit in your chair just as you are now and do nothing, but gaze out the window just as you are doing now. Nothing would ever have to be done in the name of God again._

At this argument Claude violently shook his head in hopes of dislodging these thoughts.

"_Without God man would have no purpose!"_

_He would have purpose Claude. Man's new purpose would be to live for himself. Without God there would only be man's law and no other. There would be no more cassocks, large carvings of stone to depict a story. There would be no commandments and no sin! _

At the thought of there being no sin Claude blushed.

_There is no truth in forgiveness of sin Claude._

Claude pondered all that his mind conjured up and at last gave his final argument.

"_Without God I would be allowed to be greedy, lustful, prideful. I would be allowed to love that dancing girl who vexes me! I would never have anyone, other than another man to answer to for my crimes. God decides what is right and what is wrong. It is men who interpret it and it is men who spread God's word. With or without God my eyes would still not reach Heaven, but only her." _

_You have created your own God then…_

It's great that some of you are putting this in your favorites and making me one of your favorite authors. I thank you for that, but it would be even cooler if you reviewed.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note.

Though I am trying to finish this fic and a few others, I am back at school which occupies most of my time right now. I will be updating and removing fics as quickly as I can and when I have the time to do so; my updating habits generally are based upon reviews, mainly how many reviews and what type they are. This story doesn't seem to be generating any reviews and I am seriously thinking about taking it down for the time being and putting it back up at the end of this semester.

Others that may come down are First Day of My Life, You Show Me Yours and Last Day of My Life.

I'll probably give this fic one more chapter before my final decision on whether or not it should come down. If this one does come down I might put it back up in December, once the semester ends.

I thank all of my readers and those who are making this story their favorite. But I would like some feedback before I decide whether or not I will take this story down.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey all, sorry for the belated update. This story FINALLY got it's first review! Thank you, Bad-Wolf.

Let me give everyone a quick recap, before going forth with this chapter.

Chapter 1: Lust.

Chapter 2: Gluttony.

Chapter 3: Sloth.

Chapter 4: Authors Note.

This chapter is wrath/Anger. Yes, it is incredibly violent and graphic, no you should not read this chapter if you are easily offended by violence.

Anyways, in this chapter Claude succeeds in killing Phoebus, Quasimodo, Jehan and Esmeralda for various reasons.

This chapter is sort of written backwards and is kind of trippy/choppy and yes I looked to Poe's The Tell Tale Heart for some inspiration.

Not sure when I will be updating next, as I am now working again and that takes up most of my time. But, as always reviews/constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and flames aren't.

How long had it been? He could hear an inner ticking, a metronome keeping count of every second-every maddening second. But time was not passing at it's usual rate, no it had slowed along with many other things; the sweat teeming from his brow lingered on his throbbing temple, his knuckles vibrated with an uneasy hum which seemed to quicken with every ragged beat of his heart. The sweat on his temple itched and stung, yet he dared not blot it away and his finger nails scratched the arm of his chair, but he could not stop. He only looked down at his hands and saw the crimson, darkening stains on his palms, under his finger nails. But he had washed his hands vigorously at least five times by now and he could clearly see the patches of dry skin, skin flaking away and falling off only to leave the redness of the tender and raw sub-dermis beneath. This hands ached, an unwilling side effect which he could not cure.

Other than ticks and twitches, he sat perfectly still. He was waiting for something, he knew that someone would burst through that door! He could not, however guess their reaction. Would it be dismay and disappointment? He could see them shaking their heads and looking away, at last rejecting him. Would they view him with utter fear and loathing? They would beat him, spit on him! Or would they only question him? Yes, they would be silent and allow him to talk until the words choked him! Then the words would come spewing out and they'd take him away. What a fine spectacle for the common masses! To see the man once revered and in charge of their souls being read the last rites before hanging…before burning…before boiling…before…before…there was always a "before!"

They would laugh and scowl, they would mock him and cheer to watch him be lead away as nothing more than a cold and earthly body. So many times he had been present for such violent acts, of which he never approved and now it seemed too fitting for him.

He had heard confessions of them swearing it had been an accident, some would say the victim had it coming, but most would plea for their life; all would plea for some small redemption, anything to not be shoved upon that scaffold! Anything to not be damned. Such an insignificant request, when they were more innocent than he, yet they were really begging to not be killed, to not be dead.

Death had no feeling and if it did no one had come back to tell him about it. How inhumane the act of execution was…for him.

He gulped, as droplets of sweat broke against the back of his hand. He had heard necks snapping, skin pealing away from bone, men gargling for a last breath, the gagging on smoke! All deterrents, yet none successful. The act was painful, but sometimes it was quick; it was a mere chord snapping, bone breaking…but other times it would be slow; the separation of layers of flesh and muscle to leave a skeleton, blacking out only to be able to still feel your body cook. No! No, his greatest fear was what he had done countless times before. Some man somewhere would take the body and perform experiments on it and the body would still be living. Cold instruments would be plunged into his gut to search for organs, his eyes would open wide to see the man. That man would glare at him with confusion, before placing a sheet over his body only thinking that such a small "comfort" would render him blind from seeing the tools stuck inside him, feeling the needle and wire stitch up the large incisions and make the screams go mute. Or the man would only laugh and take some perverse pleasure in torturing the still living corpse, slowly until death…the way a cat does a mouse.

All that was far off, passed the execution, passed the sentence, passed being arrested. Now time held him hostage. How long had he been sitting there? When would they begin their search? How long until they would find the bodies and know it was he? An hour, a day, a week, a month…no quicker than that! He could hear their footsteps now and stood, for there was no reason in denial. They would know just by the outstretched and mangled body of the bell ringer.

Claude began to laugh, nervously as he thought about the day's actions.

It was just another ordinary day for everyone, but him. For some reason he had woken up with fury in his mind and eyes. He kept his head lowered, his teeth gritted and he walked swiftly passed everyone, shoving many aside. Some were curious and found the Archdeacon's actions odd, but more had just shrugged and chalked it up to his regular demeanor. He could not have explained what he felt, but something had to be done about it! He hated the captain and what an easy target of such hatred. And no, it was not just because of the girl! No! No, it was because of the captain himself; his blonde hair that fell right, his carefree eyes that always laughed-mocked…sneered, his uniforms which drew women and children close and other men envied. And the attitude of Phoebus; he shrugged everything off, stood in bored while being spoken to, rolled his eyes, flirted with every charmer who gave him so much as a smile. Life was so free and easy to him, it was a joke. Arrogant, pompous, braggard! One step closer and Claude would feel the handsome man's spine against the tip of his poniard. The blade entered smoothly, without the captain's knowledge, the metal being gently covered by creamy peach colored flesh. The dagger glided deeper, Phoebus at last feeling the cold tip lodged against his back. An odd warmth spread over the captain's face as Claude buried the dagger to the hilt in the young man's back! But oh! As Claude remembered, that would not be enough to kill the dear captain and Claude could feel the bones of the youth's spine so close! He drug the dagger down, along the column and grinned with delight at seeing a red line open vertically. He could hear the gurgled, muffled cries of anguish from the captain and felt aroused! He wanted the man to scream and beg for an end. And just as Claude retrieved the dagger, Phoebus breathed a tiny relief. But an instant later he felt a hand grabbing his hair, close to the scalp. Claude bent the captain's neck back, so he could see the pain written on his face. Tears had formed to wash away any joy, there was a whine, teeth chattering, whimper of desperation with the attacker and Claude soon allowed the boy's neck to fall back to it's normal position. Here was the proud lion, on all fours, gagging in fear and grateful for a end! Claude smiled devilishly as he raised the dagger above the middle of Phoebus' back and rushed to strike his spine. Loud groans of agony and breathless, strangled screams brought delight to Claude. But this was not the finale. When the captain seemed worn out, Claude granted him a special mercy. He flicked the dagger against the captain's lower back and in a stealth movement severed the spinal chord. Phoebus lay, gasping and in shock! But Claude was still not finished, for had Phoebus been able to feel, he would have surely felt the dagger being guided into his neck to cut off any communication between his brain and the rest of his body. Claude was now done, his toy was broken and he could leave it sit in the middle of the alley, laying it face down. He did not bother to close the eyelids, he did not say some final prayer in babbled Latin. He walked on as casually as he had walked up to the now paralyzed and brain dead man. That should have satisfied him!

He looked up at the cathedral, knowing what would truly satisfy him now. All that killing had only served to make his loins throb and he needed the release only _she _could give him.

Yes, he remembered clearly now why he had committed the other two murders…his beloved brother at the bottom of the steps and Quasimodo's lifeless body in the southern tower, they had gotten in his way, just as Phoebus had.

Jehan had come knocking on the door, demanding money like some ill bred brat. Claude had merely walked forward and at the top of the stairs gave his younger brother a violent shove. He found an odd gaiety in the sound of limbs entangling and the sound of ribs crunching against stone. I lovely melody! The percussion of a skull cracking, the organ sounding the guts churning and blood spilling out, the wind being exhaled one last time to utter one last crescendo, hair scraping like strings, making an exasperated groan against each and every step. And now Jehan lay, like the rejected piece of crumpled sheet music. Claude smirked, then continued on. He knew that she must still be awake and if not that would be of no consequence to him. He thrust the key into the door and was greeted by a sight he could have gone without seeing.

Claude's eyes focused on the floor to find some answer as to why his adopted son had to die. In all of this, Quasimodo had been the most innocent and the least deserving of such an end! He could only justify the boy as a failure; Claude had failed and he could not tolerate such a thing. That evidence of failure could no longer go on existing, as it reminded him everyday of how much of a failure he, himself was. Claude could no longer look at that mirror of his soul…and here he began trembling in a cold sweat. Such violence; he could feel the boiling blood of Hell rising up to engulf him. With that thought he rushed to the wash bowl and clutched the soap, scrubbing in a never ending battle to erase the stains! Despite his efforts, the stains seemed to grow. The stains ran from his fingers and palms to the backs of his hands, up his wrist, elbow and rushing toward his shoulders.

Unlike the captain and his brother, this opponent had more to lose. This opponent carefully guarded her day and night.

"She's sleeping now."

The hunchback told him in a slow and gruff voice. But Claude continued, up to the small doorway.

"You should not disturb her now!"

Quasimodo had reached out to lead Claude away. While she was there, he had become her constant protector and had vowed to let no one near her, unless she told him otherwise. And the bell ringer remembered Claude's nocturnal assault on her.

The water in the wash bowl had become red, as Claude continued to tear at his clean skin and make it bleed; scratching away good, unsoiled flesh and creating gashes.

"Come off! Come off!"

He began shouting, tears formed in his eyes.

Claude turned back to see Quasimodo a few paces behind him. Claude could feel the heat rising to his face, as the pure hatred penetrated his heart.

He shoved, kicked, stabbed relentlessly to kill the hideous half man and for some odd reason Quasimodo never made an effort to fight back. After a short while, a quick and easy kill, Claude left the dead man bleeding from every pore. He could claim her now. He noiselessly stepped forward and entered the tiny room. Here she was, draped in white, sleeping like a small sparrow before the hawk strikes.

"Esmeralda."

The name felt so good on his lips and his cock had hardened beyond even his own belief! His name would sound rough as she screamed it to the rafters. He licked his lips in anticipation and clamored on top of her.

At the feeling of so much weight on top of her, Esmeralda's eyes flew open wide, but before she could make a sound, a hand forced it's way over her mouth.

He placed his index finger against his lips, signaling for her not to scream and he reluctantly removed his hand, allowing it to wander over her pliant neck and full bosom.

"Help!"

A shriek, unheard.

At the sound, Claude hurriedly plunged into her.

"Keep screaming! Oh keep screaming!"

It felt too good; warm, tight, slightly wet. It was a snug velvet slit that fit snuggly around him.

Hearing his demand, she ceased screaming and only sobbed. She meekly attempted to shove him off or beat him but he overpowered her and he soon became bored with her struggling. Yes, the feeling of her body wriggling against his felt phenomenal, but he grew tired of her tiny fists striking him. He reached down to hold her in place by her throat.

Yes, that was where he had ultimately gone wrong! He at last stood and retrieved his dagger, lowering it passed his waist.

"Scream my name."

He leaned down to whisper in her ear and let his tongue slink around the outer shell.

"Never!"

Her struggles were renewed, but still in vain and for a brief moment even her sobs quit. This silence gave Claude the opportunity to gain even more enjoyment!

In

Out

In farther, farther still.

Out all the way…In to the hilt!

Twisting, grinding, bucking!

"Yes! Oh yes!"

He was finally peaking, but still had not tasted full satisfaction.

He rose the dagger just slightly to gain momentum and swiftly lowered it.

He looked down at the girl, her face turned to the side. She didn't want to even look at him.

"Say it!"

He grabbed her jaw and held it steady, licking her lips.

They tasted sweet, like sugar and berries. A sweet wine.

"Say it!"

He commanded over and over, until she spoke.

"Phoebus."

It was a whisper, but her molester had heard it.

"What?"

She at last sat up, looking him straight in the eye and screamed.

"Phoebus! PHOEBUS!"

Half the organ lay on the ground, the other half still pumping a heavy stream of blood. The sticky mass coated his thighs, trickled down his legs to his feet and toes.

He at last halted and in rage, grabbed her neck.

"You will never utter that name again!"

He strangled and shook her, delighting in how her tongue stuck out as she gasped for air. He tiny hands clawed at his, but he would not release. Instead he plunged back into her, cover her scream with his mouth and tongue. He no longer cared whether or not she ever spoke again. He wanted to surge into her and he was almost there.

He reached down to touch the pumping, open nub. It felt just like her pulse against his hand. It was quick and warm.

As he pulled his mouth away from hers, he could see her mouthing that horrible name over and over to herself.

"Phoebus, Phoebus, Phoebus…"

At watching the formation of that name on her lips, he grew more angry! He shook her with more vigor than before. As a prelude to coming, her felt her head jar and hit the stone floor. Her neck snapped and blood gushed from her scalp. She breathed once or twice in his arms, but her eyes accused him of all.

He quickly pulled out and as he did, noticed the blood…

Blood had been on her thighs, blood had covered his manhood just as it did now. Blood was warm, sticky and smelled of metal. It was red and thick, turned black as it dried. He could feel the scabs claim him. He could see the boat of Charon circling above, or perhaps it was a harpy come to feed on him in this nest of thorns. He fell back, his head landing in the wash bowl. Blood splashed about his face and ran down his neck and chest.

That took a while to write. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I get more reviews. So, REVIEW!


	6. Chapter 6

Dark Images Chapter 6.

Yes, I know I have not updated this in sometime…for a while I was working and then I broke my hip. So now I have plenty of time for fandom! I want to say a quick thanks to all those who have reviewed!

Okay…so, to recap…

Lust

Gluttony

Sloth

The worst one of all, or what I refer to as the dreaded Author's Note.

Wrath/Anger.

Okay, I know in my previous chapter I said that this chapter would be Greed…I've been a little mentally blocked with that one, so I decided to do Pride instead.

So, Pride it is! This chapter contains graphic content in the form of self satisfaction and a sexual nature. If you are opposed to such content, then I suggest you stop reading this now.

As always reviews and constructive criticism are more than welcome and encouraged, however flames are not.

* * *

><p>It was before sunrise when Claude Frollo woke. Truthfully he hadn't slept in sometime and as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on his desk, he cringed. There were dark circles, wrinkles, thinning hair…all in all, the appearance of a mad man twice his age! And yet prior to this past August had anyone asked him what he thought of his looks, he would have politely shrugged and given some line about religion and vainglory; how it was wrong to care some much about how one looks and how it was a waste of time. But truthfully he was for the most part and at one time, pleased with his appearance. His hair had once been thick and a honey blonde color, his eyes had once been a cool gray which commanded respect from all. He was lean, muscular, slightly tanned and had broad shoulders. Had he not been a priest he was certain that some young lady would have been more than happy to call herself his wife. In fact, when he was younger and still a student, he had caught the eye of several damsels; they would attempt to flirt with him out in broad daylight, whisper naughty phrases in his ear, giggle relentlessly…and Claude would only sigh, shake his head and roll his eyes. A few lasses had been bolder. A small few had made physical contact by taking his hand in theirs or pressing up against his chest. Seldom did an impudent wench attempt to seduce him with a more blatant offer, as many heard rumors and suspicions grew.<p>

Every so often a memory of his mother would pop into his head and he could hear her voice, distant and soft. In these memories she fawned over him and lavished him with phrases and kisses.

"My sweet and handsome boy! You will grow and make many men jealous."

It was true, many men were jealous of Claude and why shouldn't they be? No, he was nothing compared to that-he didn't even want to think the name-Phoebus, but he was proud of his intellect and his accomplishments, the few that he saw. He was very young when he had become Bishop, very young when he had first learned to read and write, he had devoured more books than most would read in their entire lifetime, he was the most pious and holy man most other men knew, he was sought out by the King and his physician. Yes, there was much to be proud of! He gave his reflection the haughty look it deserved, after all it did not tell the entire truth.

* * *

><p>Claude felt dizzy, standing there alone in the cathedral. It's burnt out remains and crust of the once mighty nutrient which gave him life. He could feel a tingling on the bottoms of his feet, but not a pleasant one. He began to hasten his pace in an attempt to outrun the sensation, but it had caught him and penetrated through his foot. Those sharp, needle like thorns had burst up through the hot dense earth and now grew through his feet. At first he struggled to pull his feet lose, but the pain was too great and the loss of a foot seemed to be a great threat. In his struggle he felt himself losing a fighting battle with balance; no, that was a battle he had long since lost…<p>

* * *

><p>As he turned away from the small mirror he heard that ever annoying sound! It was that little gypsy dancer and her infernal tambourine! Had it not been there every day, had it not broken his peace and silence he may have found it a welcome distraction. And at one time he did; the first day he had heard that noise it was actually quite soothing. He had been awake too long, his experiments had occupied him for three days straight. He had grown frustrated, but that sound seemed to make him laugh! And he had to see who it was that broke his dreary and angry mood…<p>

But that had been too long ago and now the holder of that instrument lavished such songs on that Captain. It was not for the Captain's manly accomplishments that she adored him, but merely his looks. And had had this Captain accomplished anyway? Had he too been attempting the impossible, had he succeeded in making lead into gold? The only accomplishment Claude heard tell about as far as the Captain was concerned were how many admirers he had, or more to the point how many sexual encounters that cur had! And perhaps that was something to be proud of…

* * *

><p>In a brief moment of triumph Claude had freed his left foot, but only to take a step forward, twist and fall upon the engulfing thorns. The brown needles dug deeply into his knees and shins, only to exit through the other side. He could hear his flesh tear as the small objects grew in. Their tips were small and sharp, which provided minimal pain, however their triangular shape gave way to a thicker base. Claude could feel the thorns jabbing at bones and muscles, scraping and puncturing, rupturing arteries!<p>

* * *

><p>How often had he heard some braggart bragging about his "size?" Or some hussy joking about the subject? Claude considered this line of thought. Perhaps that gossip and those lewd jokes about the Captain were true and that was why Phoebus was a repeat customer at brothels. Claude smiled to himself, nodding in agreement. And then a new thought broke the heavy silence in his head-size! What was considered "average?" Hmm…From what he had gathered, "average" was somewhere between 5 inches and 6 inches…<p>

* * *

><p>Claude writhed, trying to break free from these stiff thorns! He violently threw his right arm back, groping for the pillar behind him, thinking it would grant him leverage. It granted him something; his hand had been pinned, as a prickling vine slithered around his wrist and gliding through the palm of his hand. Smaller, thinner, more skillful needles drew into his fingertips to crack his nails and bruise the tender flesh beneath. With gritted teeth, shallow and staggering breaths, Claude lifted his left hand to free the right, but to no avail. Another vine had claimed that hand as well, pinning it too the pillar and giving it the same treatment his left hand had endured. He was slowly being crucified…<p>

* * *

><p>Claude smirked and looked down. He would find an answer to his own question! He deftly released his swollen manhood from the cassock which constantly kept him in check and took a measuring instrument from his desk. Feeling that he was suddenly doing something very wrong, he gulped and turned away. He felt his hand gently place the measuring instrument against the lengthy organ and looked back down. This gave him license to gloat, to grin evilly! Ha! Above average, that would please her greatly! As he slid the measuring instrument away, he realized that it felt good…very good.<p>

* * *

><p>The thorns were grinding against his neck, slicing into his spine and making him part of this holy hell! He had so long considered himself great enough to be one of those saints or martyrs portrayed in the stained glass that now it was happening. The thorns cut into his throat, causing him to choke and cough. Blood was heaved onto the floor and a far off shriek answered the scent! He could still stop this madness, he could still quit the thorns that now drilled into his scalp…<p>

* * *

><p>With the thought of his own size in his head and the imagery his burning brain schemed up-the girl waiting his arrival in bed, biting her lip in anticipation for the hours of pleasure she would endure-he grabbed his cock and at first admired it. The thick, and strong shaft…a strong and mighty oak, stiff and rigid. The head and tip, pink and warm, slightly wet. The entirety was of his enormity was throbbing, begging to satisfy that sweet damsel! Claude felt the flesh glide through his rough palm. A shiver coursed through his veins and he added a stronger grip. Yes, there at the base felt exquisite! He imagined her hand being there and a blush spread across her cheeks. He could hear her whisper a soft praise and how she had never felt one so big! As he pulled and tugged at his masculine pride, a wide smile overtook his face…<p>

* * *

><p>At first they felt like thin, fleshless fingers that scrubbed soap in to wash his brain clean of impure thoughts, but then the sound of his own skull ricocheted and echoed off every wall and pillar; all he could do was exhale, gasp for air, release silent scream after silent scream. He closed his eyes, hoping that if he could not see this brutal scene it would cease to exist. But he felt them pulsating through every though, every ounce of acquired knowledge, each heavy desire. And that cause his eyes to reopen! He could see the wings in the distance and hear their laughter. He could see the less frightening blood and feel how each joint had been disconnected…<p>

* * *

><p>He yanked his manhood faster now, thinking of what she would refer to it as…"Little Claude." Such a soft name, such an untruth. He chuckled, remembering what the measurement had been. There was nothing "little" about him! He would spread those pink lips of hers and jam himself in that tight pussy and ask her how "little" she felt he was. He could hear her answer, a pleading whimper for him to be gentle and how something that size might become stuck or cause her pain. He would like to be stuck between those soft, tan thighs in that tight, warm and moist cavern. His hand had begun to move erratically and he tightened his grip…<p>

* * *

><p>His eyes fluttered shut as the thorns made their way, easily piercing the cool gray of his irises and forever rendering his lids shut. He could taste and smell the tiny needles as the glided over his tongue…they tasted like…dirt and metal, minerals which he had once experimented liberally with. He could hear them growing and they sounded like branches and leaves being crunched beneath someone's foot on a crisp autumn morning and then, as they slid out his ears all went silent…<p>

* * *

><p>During the act she would compare him to the Captain, breathlessly praising "Claude…too big…much bigger…" Claude's hand slipped to rub the tip of his cock, lost in the imaginary praise she was giving him and drunk off his own thoughts and how he could please any woman's urge for something "large."<p>

* * *

><p>Only his sixth sense remained. He could tell that it had become darker, hotter and that something had blown in and taken its place next to him. It was examining his face with black eyes, a forked tongue that darted out passed thin teeth which on the flesh felt the same as the thorns. Those teeth were dry and took hold of his shoulder, nibbling slowly at the red stained flesh and teasing him. He could feel its hand reach down and the scales scratch against his penis. He could feel himself meekly utter two words…<p>

* * *

><p>Yes, with his size it would take very little effort to penetrate that delicate blossom deeply. He was after all, twice the size of an "average" man, which in his mind meant that she would receive three times more pleasure than with the Captain…or so rumor had it. He was almost there, he needed something soft and silken to bear what was about to happen. He could imagine her easily becoming pregnant with an entire brood after one night with him; something his size must exude twice the amount of seed than a normal mad. At that thought Claude through his head back and laughed. He was never any "normal" man. He was better than every "ordinary" man!<p>

* * *

><p>Its tongue flicked over and around his member, coating it with hot saliva. At one time he fantasized about her performing a similar act, but now his mind could only offer obstructed and vague shadow like images of some blurry demon who was about to do the unspeakable! It skimmed those sharp teeth over the large appendage and he could feel It smile. And then those teeth began to move, quickly gnawing and nibbling, as though It were a rat and he was a piece of cheese.<p>

"Not That!"

* * *

><p>He at last cried out in anguish.<p>

"Oh Yes!" He cried blissfully, as he finally came to the sight of her turning her eyes toward the dark tower. A moment later he felt the drowsy lull of sleep overtake his body. With a selfsatisfied smile he fell upon his desk.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note 2.0

Hello to all my fabulous readers out there and thank you for the reviews! I FINALLY got the new chapter up and as you can see it is Pride. I have 2 more to write, so at the moment I'm trying to work through my block with Greed, so Greed may be last and Envy may be next. It may be a while before I post an update; in February I broke my hip, however with physical therapy I am getting better. The therapy does take quite a bit out of me, so I'm not writing every single day and now that I will be putting weight on my left leg I will be taking a prescription medication for pain which turns me into a zombie and makes me fall asleep very easily. I've also been slowly working on an ending for another FF and I've been writing short stories in my spare time. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can.

Again, thank you to all those who have read and especially to those who have reviewed.


	8. Chapter 8

I'm back!

I know I haven't updated in ages, but I have been busy writing this chapter and working. But I'm finally done with Greed!

It's not a very graphic chapter.

I really don't feel the need to write the synopsis for each chapter…so if you're reading this chapter first just know that I've done a series of vignettes based on The Seven Deadly Sins and Claude Frollo.

As always reviews/constructive criticism are welcome, however flames are not.

Enjoy and review!

* * *

><p>Guilt was felt every time he prayed. Such a beautiful and intimate act prayer was, yet now it had become sullied by his ambitions and desires. He certainly could not be thought as so primal to feel such guilt, or to ask such things.<p>

"God grant me whatever knowledge a man must have to create gold."

It was a shuddering whisper, one he made sure no one else heard. He would barely breathe it in his cell, bent over books and boiling metals. Like all ideas a presumably good man has this one too began with the purest of intent. If he were able to create gold, there would be no starving people in the streets! He could even justify that what he was doing was indeed pure; those same people who were once starving would be grateful and want to show their thanks to God! Those people would be brought to the light and live in His Kingdom. Yes, with all the gold in the world all of the world's problems could be solved and every man, woman and child from France to the orient would be thanking him. But he was humble and would tell them all not to thank him, but to thank God and that to show how grateful they are, they ought become Christian and denounce their pagan ways. With all the power that all the gold in the world brings, he could finance crusades and reform everyone.

* * *

><p>It was hot. A dense, humid and unforgiving heat surrounded him. In a frantic state he looked around, but all he saw were rich red walls and a damp ground. There was an opening high above his head, which he regarded with a collected calm. This hole was weeping a red liquid, searing, scorching his feet! But he did not cry out, instead he looked up to find a root or a branch to take hold of. All he saw were two dark figures looking down at him. Claude nodded, realizing where he had been placed and in that nod gave permission.<p>

* * *

><p>But good intent is perhaps the most slippery slope of all. Had he begun with despicable plans and a horrifying design, perhaps then he would have felt some spark of guilt during an experiment…something to change his mind. But all his life he had thought of himself as a good man with good intentions. Such a man rarely if ever sees the receding of the good intent as it casually drifts into mal intent.<p>

Had he possessed the sun, the bright golden sphere which she so cherished, he would be God! Perhaps he would not have been God to thousands, but she would worship him.

* * *

><p>This hole was unlike any other; it pulsated and churned and Claude could feel it breathing. He could feel his toes wiggling in the mossy ground, stirring up the rank odor of the liquid beneath. A metallic stench, salty, bitter and earthy…yet familiar. Above him he could hear a clinking sound and with curiosity looked up.<p>

"Ouch!"

A small, plate like object had struck his face, before landing on the instep of his right foot. Out of blatant curiosity he again looked up to see a few more objects been dropped. This time he had learned to shield his face with his arms and was able to catch one of the small shining objects.

* * *

><p>The sun, gold, God. That had become his line of thinking. Were he able to, he would pay someone to kill that "Sun God." He would have that braggart's body buried far away where none would even suspect to find it! With all the gold in the world, he could have it done and no one would ask a single question. Would she mourn him? Of course, or she would until someone placed a more luminescent object in her line of sight.<p>

Yes, every man had his price and judging by how many times his brother frequented brothels every woman had her price as well. There would be questions, but gold could easily be the answer. And what man, what man of God would ever doubt the answer of a hundred gold coins in his hand? None.

He could possess the "Sun God." Yes, he could use the idiot as his willing lackey. It was not so much about the gold, but the sun. With all the gold in the world, one must easily be able to buy the sun.

* * *

><p>It was flat, yellow, shiny and engraved. It was a gold coin! They had all been gold coins and they now pooled around his feet, causing him to sink into the red ground. He could read the inscription on the one he held in his hand.<p>

"God grant me whatever knowledge a man must have to create gold."

His own words, used in this demonic wishing well! In seeing those words, his words on that coin, he began to panic. A way out, there must be a way out…

* * *

><p>Why stop at such a measly planet as the sun? With that much gold, he could possess even God himself. He would command God to bring that little dancing girl to him and make her love him. He would buy her necklaces of gold, diamonds, rubies…everything she would ask for in return she would be his.<p>

He grabbed hold of a wall, placed one foot on the wall and pushed up with the other. It worked, though briefly. He slipped down, handfuls of vile red soil and feet covered in the stinking red liquid. He dropped the soil instantly, after feeling it begin to eat away at his hands. Now red, from the soil Claude attempted to wipe them clean on his cassock. His hands were red, the soil had begun to eat away at his flesh. He thought it best not to attempt another escape.

He would tell God that if he did not get his way, he would stop the crusades. He would quit the building of churches, the reforming of pagans. He would keep the gold for himself and share the alchemy with no one!

As more coins were dropped, he could feel himself sink deeper into the dank, red soil. He could feel the red mossy slush carelessly devouring his ankles.

"GAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

It was not a word, but a sound of anguish as he fell upon his shins. His knees hit the acidic slime and he scrambled to get up, before they too were eroded to his thighs. Through all of this, the coins kept dropping down on him. This was hope; perhaps the coins would continue to drop and he could stay on top of them, allowing them to raise him up and climb out of this dreadful pit. He had no feet, no ankles and the coins poured down on top of him.

* * *

><p>He would stop killing innocent men by placing one army against another if God did not obey. He would leave houses of worship unfinished, so that the people would not have a place to pray to God. He would allow men of pagan faiths to go on worshiping their false idols and the dungeons would be empty without these men to torture. He would have all the gold and all the power to himself, but he would no longer have God and without God there would be no way to possess her.<p>

* * *

><p>Coins struck his back, his buttocks, his head. He could not creep down to attempt escape, surely the acidic would eat him whole. He would not climb up, for he would surely loose his hands and arms in the process.<p>

The path to Hell had not been paved with good intentions. The pathway was only paved with men of ill intent. Hell was paved with good intentions.

He lay, allowing the coins to continue burying him. It was a far less gruesome torment, than being consumed by the blood and acid which reside in the pit of one's own stomach.

* * *

><p>The thought of all the evil one could do with such gold stirred his stomach, making him feel nauseated and a burning sensation rose up from his throat.<p>

* * *

><p>Hope you all enjoyed that, now please review!<p> 


End file.
